


but if you're single, that's honestly worse

by tamquams



Series: unless you wanna come along? [3]
Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Non-Magical, M/M, Multi, POV Outsider, Ronan Compliant Language, gansey pov, painfully oblivious gansey, so much heternormativity i am so sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-27
Updated: 2021-01-27
Packaged: 2021-03-12 21:35:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29017521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tamquams/pseuds/tamquams
Summary: Something’s up with Adam and Ronan, and Gansey almost has it figured out.
Relationships: Henry Cheng/Richard Gansey III/Blue Sargent, Ronan Lynch/Adam Parrish
Series: unless you wanna come along? [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2014039
Comments: 24
Kudos: 180





	but if you're single, that's honestly worse

**Author's Note:**

> howdy!! i hope you're all doing well and staying safe, and i hope you enjoy this!! this is dedicated to c, who puts up with hearing about a hundred fic ideas a week even though she only gets to read one a month if we're lucky. love you to the moon and to saturn ♡

Something’s up with Adam and Ronan, and Gansey almost has it figured out.

Things have been… strange… for a while now. Gansey can’t quite put his finger on what the difference is — they’re still bickering, still invading each other’s personal space, still engaging in hijinks and shenanigans that Gansey can only shake his head at — but he _knows_ something’s wrong. He has pretty good instincts for stuff like this, if he does say so himself, and even Henry and Blue think that something has changed, although they aren’t exactly on board with Gansey’s whole _something is dreadfully wrong and it’s my duty to fix it_ theory.

“I don’t know,” says Blue, mixing her yogurt thoughtfully. She’s leaning against the arm of the horrendous maroon couch that takes up half the living room at Fox Way, her legs stretched out across Gansey’s lap. Her sock-feet rest on Henry’s thigh, and Henry leans his head against Gansey’s shoulder, effectively sandwiching Gansey in. He likes it like this, all warm and safe between his two favorite people in the world. Nothing bad can touch him here, and it wouldn’t want to, anyway; hell hath no fury like Blue Sargent protecting the people she loves. Blue leans forward to feed Gansey a spoonful of yogurt-covered blueberries, then collapses back into her spot. “I don’t think anything’s _wrong_ with them. I think they’re just working out their shit.”

Henry nods, the movement jostling Gansey’s shoulder slightly. Gansey readjusts their position so that his arm is resting on the back of the couch behind Henry, warm against his shoulder blades. “Yeah, I’m not really picking up on any bad vibes between them. I think you’re just being a bit overprotective, babe.”

Gansey blushes slightly and uses his free hand to push up his glasses, hoping to hide the pink tinge at his cheeks. “No, I’m certain,” he says in his most authoritative voice. “I’ve known them for quite some time, and they’ve never been like this. Not ever.”

In his peripheral, Gansey can see Blue tilt her head slightly. To his left, Henry also tilts his head, like he’s making eye contact with Blue from the other end of the sofa. Gansey glances between them, tries to decipher the _look_ they’re sharing. “What is it?” he asks after a moment, frowning. Usually, when Blue and Henry are conducting a conversation with their eyes, Gansey is right there in the middle of it, translating and communicating in tandem with his partners. This is the first time that he’s been on the outside of it, and it stings rather more than it should. “Do the two of you know something that I don’t?”

“No,” says Blue, too quickly. She arches a brow at Henry, who gives a tiny shake of his head in return. Gansey’s brows furrow further. She’s still looking at Henry when she says to Gansey, “Why don’t you just, I dunno, ask them what’s up?”

“ _Ask_ them?” Gansey scoffs, incredulous. “You know as well as I do that they are both highly unlikely to answer any questions I ask them, particularly if those questions pertain to their relationship.” Henry snorts at that, but Gansey has absolutely no clue as to why. “No, I’m afraid that something is terribly wrong and it’s threatening the very fabric of their friendship. And I understand if the two of you would prefer not to get involved, but I cannot just sit idly by while they cause each other pain.”

“Gansey,” Blue says. Her tone is firm, but when she reaches out a hand and caresses his shoulder, her touch is soft as ever. “I just really don’t think it’s something you have to get involved in.”

Knocking his knee against Gansey’s, Henry hums in agreement. “Surely they would come to you if they needed you to solve their problems, Richardman,” he says. On Gansey’s other side, Blue nods vigorously.

Gansey just shakes his head, letting out a long-suffering sigh. “I suppose it’s up to me, then,” he says, patting Blue’s ankles absentmindedly. He squares his shoulders and tilts his chin upward, more like a superhero and less like a meddling teenage boy.

“Fine,” says Blue, clearly displeased. She smooths her thumb over the collar of his polo shirt, and her next words come through pursed lips. “Just don’t say we didn’t warn you.”

* * *

Because Gansey is, above all things, an intellectual, he takes time to develop a plan rather than just dive headfirst into problem solving. While killing time at Monmouth before a group movie night, he opens his newest, post-Glendower journal to a random page and begins jotting down the steps to figuring out what is wrong with Adam and Ronan and how exactly to fix it.

_Step 1: Observation._   
_Step 2: Investigation._   
_Step 3: Communication._   
_Step 4: Celebration._

It’s a simple plan, but effective. Gansey caps his pen and gets Monmouth ready for movie night, making sure all of the blankets are laundered and there is an abundance of snacks and soft drinks. He rearranges the furniture slightly so that all of the chairs and couches face the television comfortably enough, tries on four different cardigans to see which one is the softest, and is in the middle of washing the dishes when the front door slams open and Henry and Blue waltz in. They’re bundled up against the cold, sporting scarves and hats and gloves knitted by miscellaneous ladies of Fox Way, but as soon as they’re over the threshold, they start shrugging off their outermost layers, never pausing in their chatter. “...pretentious is what it is,” Blue is saying, unwinding the midnight blue scarf at her throat, “I hope they get your ass in the class wars.”

“They’d have to catch me first,” Henry says, earning himself a judgmental glance from Blue. They step out of their boots and hang their jackets on the antique coat rack by the door, and turn to peer at Gansey through the open door of the bathroom-kitchen-laundry room. “Darling,” says Henry, his smile unfaltering, “whatever are you doing?”

A familiar warmth that Gansey associates with Blue and Henry settles over his shoulders like a blanket. “Just washing some dinnerware,” he says, adding more dish soap to the sponge in his hands. Well, not dish soap; they ran out a week ago and it was Ronan’s turn to do the shopping, so naturally there’s still no dish soap, and Gansey is using shampoo instead. He figures it’s probably close enough. “I’ll be done in a moment, make yourselves comfortable.”

Henry makes himself at home on the largest sofa, which he, Gansey, and Blue will inevitably end up sharing during the movie. Blue chooses to cross the room to stand in the bathroom-kitchen-laundry doorway, her arms folded over her chest. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you do the dishes,” she says. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen _anyone_ do the dishes here. I was starting to think you guys didn’t even _own_ dishes.”

Gansey smiles and places the last plate on the drying rack before turning off the faucet. “I’ll admit we’ve fallen a bit behind on some of our household chores,” he says, drying his hands on a (hopefully) clean dish towel. “Next I’ll have to bleach the floor, I suppose.”

Approaching the refrigerator, Blue frowns and points at something taped to the door. “According to the chore wheel, it’s Ronan’s turn to wash the floor. _And_ do the dishes.”

“Yes, it’s been Ronan’s turn for about a year and a half now,” Gansey says. “Since the creation of the chore wheel. I’m afraid that was the last time either of those tasks were completed.”

“Oh, my God,” Blue groans, displeased. “Do I even want to ask about Noah’s productivity in the cleaning-the-bathroom department?”

Gansey grimaces. “Perhaps not.” With a hand at the small of her back, Gansey guides Blue back out of the bathroom-kitchen-laundry and into the main room. “If it makes you feel any better, my mother has started sending a cleaning service here once a month.”

Blue makes a disgusted noise. “How is that supposed to make me feel better? You’re all big boys, I’m sure you can pick up a broom and dustpan every once in a while. You, I get, but I met Ronan’s mom. I expect more from him.”

“Oh,” Gansey says, pouting. “So you have higher expectations for Ronan than for me?”

Blue just smiles up at him sympathetically, patting his bicep. “Honestly? When it comes to living like the other half or whatever, yes, I do.” She rubs his arm soothingly. “Sorry, dear. You never stood a chance.”

Gansey sighs deeply. “I suppose you’re right,” he says, sitting down beside Henry. Blue falls back onto the couch on Henry’s other side and makes herself comfortable against his shoulder.

“When are the boys getting here?” Blue asks, swinging one leg over the arm of the couch. She slumps slightly as Henry runs a hand through her hair.

“Technically speaking, Noah is already here, but there’s no telling when he’ll wake up. Adam and Ronan should be here in, oh, fifteen minutes?” says Gansey, checking his watch. Henry loops his free arm around Gansey’s shoulders and pulls until Gansey is leaning against him as well.

Blue hums thoughtfully. “Are they riding together?”

“I believe so,” says Gansey. He would turn to raise an inquisitive eyebrow at her, but he’s much too comfortable pressed against Henry’s side. “Why do you ask?”

“No reason,” says Blue. He doesn’t believe her, of course, but he doesn’t bother pressing any further. Blue will tell him what’s on her mind when she is ready, and not a moment earlier. It’s one of the things that he loves about her, really, even when it’s being used against him.

Gansey pulls a throw blanket over them and they sit there quietly for a while, just enjoying each other’s company. That’s a lot of what their relationship has been so far, spending long, peaceful moments pressed up against each other and listening to each other’s breathing. As someone whose number one love language is quality time (followed closely by every other love language, because Gansey is quite full of love, thank you very much), he finds it incredibly rewarding.

Eventually, after a period of time much longer than fifteen minutes, Gansey hears a distant hum that soon grows to a roar. He sits up slightly in anticipation; he would recognize the sound of the BMW’s engine anywhere. There’s a squeal of brakes as the car turns into the parking lot much too quickly, and then silence falls as the engine is killed. Two car doors close in quick succession, and then two sets of feet mount the stairs, and then the door bursts open and two young men hurry inside. Ronan enters first, hands shoved into the pockets of his leather jacket. His face is flushed and his lips are bright red, like he’s been standing in a cold wind for quite a while. Right on his heels is Adam, who doesn’t look much better with his hair mussed and the collar of his shirt tugged down to expose a bruise on his clavicle. Gansey frowns.

“What happened to your collarbone, Parrish?” he asks in lieu of greeting. For some reason, Blue snickers. Adam glances down at his collarbone absently and sucks in a breath, his eyes going wide. Ronan glances over his shoulder and then faces forward again, a small smirk playing at his lips. Even Henry huffs out a small laugh, and Gansey has no idea what’s so funny, but he’s very curious.

Adam swallows hard. “Oh, uh, work accident,” he says, shaking his head. He yanks the collar back up and then smooths it. Gansey wonders vaguely what type of work accident would only result in a bruised collarbone, but before he has the chance to ask, Adam says, “Where’s Noah?”

“Still sleeping,” Gansey says. “I believe this is hour fourteen of his slumber. I’m beginning to worry.”

“Hey, Czerny!” Ronan shouts, his deep tenor reverberating throughout the loft. “Get your ass out here! It’s movie time!”

“Such charm,” says Blue under her breath.

“Shut it, Sargent,” says Ronan. He kicks off his boots and throws his jacket on top of a table where Gansey has been working off-and-on on a jigsaw puzzle. There’s no point in asking Ronan to use the coat rack, of course — he refuses to use it on principle, having told Gansey something along the lines of _only entitled jackasses and trust fund babies use coat racks, and I may be both of those things, but even I have standards_. Adam, forever polite and proper, takes the time to hang his own coat carefully on an empty hook and unlace his shoes before moving them out of the walkway. He straightens up and meets Ronan’s eye for a moment, and Gansey watches as they exchange a challenging glance.

After a few seconds, Noah’s door finally opens, and he emerges, pale and sleep-tousled. He rubs a hand against a half-closed eye and yawns, then throws himself down in an armchair. “What day is it?” he mumbles, pulling his knees to his chest. He’s still in his pajamas, a pair of sweatpants and an overly large t-shirt, and he looks a few seconds away from going right back to sleep where he is. “Did I miss Christmas?”

Ronan ruffles Noah’s hair fondly as he passes him, making his way to the loveseat across the room. “It is _January_ , shithead,” he says, sinking down into the plush furniture. “You did not _miss Christmas_.”

Adam follows Ronan across the room and sits down on the other end of the loveseat, within an arm’s reach of the other boy. They seem to be deliberately not looking at each other, and Gansey frowns. Ronan grabs a blanket and tosses it at Adam without a word. “Have y’all picked a movie?” Adam asks nobody in particular, and Gansey notices that Ronan’s lips quirk upward when Adam says _y’all_. Maybe that’s what they’re fighting about, maybe Ronan has been mocking Adam’s upbringing and his accent and his charming, gentlemanly southern mannerisms. If that’s the case, all Gansey has to do is give Ronan a stern talking-to about class sensitivity. Or at least sic Blue on him. Gansey decides to test his theory.

“Not yet,” Gansey drawls. He tries to infuse his words with as much of an accent as he can get away with. “We were waiting for y’all.”

Adam tilts his head curiously, and Ronan scowls. “Are you making fun of the way Parrish talks, dude?” he says, half confused and half angry. “Not cool.”

“Gansey,” scolds Blue, reaching over Henry to swat at Gansey’s arm. “What’s wrong with you?”

Gansey feels his face flush. “Sorry, Parrish,” he says, mentally crossing off this first theory. Adam just nods, his brows furrowed like he’s working out a complex equation in his mind. Gansey feels rather the same way.

“So,” Adam prompts after a moment, “what are the choices?”

“Oh.” Gansey straightens up and looks down at the DVD’s he’s arranged atop the coffee table. “ _Shawshank Redemption_ —”

“Fuck no,” says Blue, and she leans forward, picks up the movie, and then tosses it over her shoulder.

“Hey!” objects Ronan. “That was my pick!”

Blue smiles unkindly. “Don’t care, didn’t ask, you have shitty taste in movies.”

“Well, if you wanna play it that way,” Ronan grumbles, and he stalks over to the coffee table and picks up a DVD case. “ _Pitch Perfect?_ Pass.” He throws the movie like a frisbee across the room, where it collides with the wall and the case falls open.

Blue’s expression sharpens. “Nice try,” she says, condescension dripping from her lips, “but that was Noah’s pick, not mine.”

Ronan glares at Noah. “Really, Czerny?” Noah just shrugs unapologetically, pulling a blanket over the top of his head and around his body sleepily.

“Let’s all calm down,” Gansey begins, but he pauses when both Blue and Ronan cut their dangerous gazes to him. Reluctantly, he takes a step back and sighs, imbued with the knowledge that this won’t end until Blue and Ronan have gotten it out of their systems.

Ronan inspects the remaining movies, trying again to suss out Blue’s choice. He picks up another DVD, waving it around frantically. “ _Finding Dory_?” he says before drop-kicking it over the couch.

Blue laughs coldly. “Gansey’s,” she says. “And he’s going to be very upset if you just broke it.”

“That’s true,” Gansey adds matter-of-factly.

“Here, I’ll save you some time,” Blue says, and she knocks a movie off the table unceremoniously. “ _Interstellar_ is Adam’s,” she tosses another film over her shoulder, “and _Charlie St. Cloud_ is Henry’s.” She looks pointedly at the last movie on the table, then arches her brows at Ronan. “You gonna play kickball with that one, too?”

Ronan swipes up the movie, glances at it, and does a double take. His scowl deepens. For a moment, Gansey is sure that Ronan is going to open the door and throw the movie out into the cold, but instead he drops it back on the table and retreats to his seat beside Adam, who levels Ronan with such an unimpressed look that Gansey nearly feels bad for him. Oh, maybe that’s it. Maybe Adam is fed up with Ronan’s anger management issues and his theatricality. Gansey makes a mental note of his newest hypothesis, then steps forward and picks up Blue’s movie.

“All in favor of _Lemonade Mouth_?” he asks, and everyone raises their hands — even Ronan, albeit reluctantly. Gansey smiles and places the DVD carefully in the player, then grabs the remote and heads back to the couch, where he immediately lies down with his head in Henry’s lap.

Ronan turns out the lights when the movie starts, and for the next hour and forty five minutes, the six of them watch the movie in relative peace. Gansey remains curled up against Henry, secure in the warmth and the safety of their little unit, and sneaks a multitude of glances at Adam and Ronan. They begin the movie sitting on their respective sides of the loveseat, pointedly ignoring one another, but after about ten minutes, Adam shifts in his seat until he’s much closer to Ronan. One of his arms goes unthinkingly over the back of the loveseat, nearly touching Ronan’s shoulders, but if Ronan notices, he says nothing. He reaches over and rubs at the hem of the blanket that’s folded over Adam’s lap, then unfolds it and spreads it over both of them. Adam bites the inside of his cheek and leans in to whisper something to Ronan, who rolls his eyes and shakes his head. A new, more worrisome thought occurs to Gansey: what if Adam is the cause of the tension between them? What if it’s Adam who has hurt Ronan, and not the other way around? When Adam is angry, he turns to ice, but over time he thaws. Ronan Lynch, however, is a wildfire, and there’s no end to his burning. If Adam is the one at fault, this is going to be a lot more difficult than Gansey anticipated.

At some point, Ronan gets up to get something to eat. He comes back with two drinks and two paper plates of pizza, and he gestures to Adam to take one of each. Gansey is certain that Adam is going to refuse, but instead Adam just does something strange with his mouth and takes what Ronan hands him. This must be worse than Gansey had thought, if Adam feels so guilty that he’s letting Ronan do things for him.

Near the middle of the movie, Adam gets up, presumably to throw his trash away, and offers to take Ronan’s as well. Ronan smirks and stands, following Adam to the kitchen. They’re gone for far longer than it should take an average person to deposit their trash in the garbage can. Presumably, they’re arguing, but if so they’re doing it rather quietly. Eventually, Gansey considers going to find them, because by now they’ve missed two entire musical numbers, and no matter how much Ronan claims to hate them, Gansey knows that Ronan has the entire _Lemonade Mouth_ soundtrack saved on Spotify. He’s just removing the blanket from his lap when Adam reenters the room, walking quickly with his head down. Gansey can’t see his face in the darkness of the room, but Adam’s hair is even messier than before, and his posture is tense. He sits cross-legged on the loveseat and immediately focuses his attention to the television. When Ronan returns a few moments later, his shirt bunching up in the back, Adam does not acknowledge him in the slightest. Gansey can feel his mouth working itself into a frown. Just what had they fought about in the bathroom-kitchen-laundry? Had it gotten physical? Gansey has never known Ronan to lay a hand on Adam, and refuses to believe that he would, but he can’t quite come up with a more plausible explanation as to why they would both look so disheveled after disappearing for that length of time.

When the movie ends, Ronan leans over behind the loveseat to turn on the light. His shirt rides up slightly and as Gansey watches, Adam reaches out and brushes his knuckle against the pale band of skin there. Well, if Gansey hadn’t been confused _before_ , he sure as hell is _now_. The gesture looks almost _affectionate_ , which is not exactly a descriptor that he would assign to Ronan and Adam’s dynamic. They’ve always leaned more toward _aggressive_ , or _reluctant_ , or, if Gansey is being generous, _symbiotic_. Yes, they’ve come a long way from the days of competing ruthlessly for Gansey’s attention and favor, but there is still something combative and furious between them, and the type of affection Gansey has just witnessed does not make sense in the context that this is _Adam and Ronan_.

“Dearest,” says Henry, shifting so that he can look Gansey in the eye. “Are you all right?”

Remembering himself, Gansey smiles. “Of course,” he says, reaching up and pushing a short lock of hair out of Henry’s face. Henry offers him a small, private smile that warms Gansey from the inside out. At least not _everything_ is terrible and confusing.

* * *

Ronan and Adam leave together, unsurprisingly, and Gansey watches through the window as they descend the stairs single-file. Ronan jumps the last few steps and then turns to say something to Adam, whose back is turned to Gansey. Adam reaches the bottom of the stairs and raises a hand to point accusingly at Ronan, but Ronan just grins, unrepentant. He reaches for Adam, to do what Gansey has absolutely no clue, and then suddenly there’s a hand on Gansey’s bicep tugging him away from the window.

“Stop spying,” Blue scolds him, guiding him back across the room. “Whatever is going on with them is none of your business, love, just let it play out.” They fall back against the couch, where Henry is curled up, flipping absentmindedly through some apps on his phone. He shifts a bit when Blue and Gansey join him, stretching his legs across both their laps, and makes eye contact with Blue briefly before resuming his scrolling.

Gansey furrows his brows, eyes darting between the two of them. “I’m just worried about them,” he says with a small frown. “Their relationship has always been so turbulent. One wrong move and they might crash and burn for good.” It’s a fear that Gansey has had for quite a while, to be perfectly honest. Since the earliest days of their friendship, since Gansey first brought Adam to Monmouth and introduced the boys, there has been such a strange animosity between them. In the beginning, they were constantly colliding, jealous and bitter and unnecessarily cruel. Going for the throat when there was absolutely no need. Eventually, they warmed to each other, as much as they seemed capable of doing so; the bickering continues even now, but it seems habitual, rather heatless. Mostly. Occasionally, they still devolve into the snarling and shouting and raw rage that plagued their sophomore (and much of their junior) year. And when that happens, Gansey can’t help but worry that this is it. This might be the fight that tears them apart forever.

“Babe,” says Blue, sitting up slightly so she can look Gansey in the eye. Her expression is serious, sincere. “I think you’re underestimating them. They’re not the same people they were when they first met.”

“They’re always going to fight, though.”

Blue hums thoughtfully. “Yeah,” she concedes with a nod. “They are. But they’re always going to get over it, too.”

Gansey considers this. It is true, he thinks, that in the grand scheme of things, Ronan and Adam always seem to move past their differences and fall back into their routine of snarky comments and private smirks and ridiculous roughhousing. That’s the pattern of their friendship, once Gansey stops to think about it: begrudging loyalty, humor at someone else’s expense, reckless behavior, over-the-top fight, ignoring each other for a few days, coming back together when they realize they hate the rest of the world more than they hate each other. Rinse and repeat. Gansey doesn’t understand it because it isn’t his particular brand of friendship, but Gansey doesn’t _need_ to understand it — it isn’t about him.

Still, though. He’s seen their cycle a thousand times, and whatever is happening now is… not that. “This is different,” he says, half to Blue, half to himself. When he meets her gaze again, he arches an eyebrow. “You know this is different. You don’t have to tell me what you know that I don’t, Jane, but please don’t act like this isn’t different.”

Blue’s mouth twists as she bites down on the inside of her cheek. “Okay,” she says, shrugging one shoulder, and then she falls back against the plush couch cushions. Her face is impassive when she adds, “Your funeral.”

Gansey tsks at her, indignant. “If this blows up, it’s all of our funerals.”

* * *

January passes by slowly, day upon neverending day of mind-numbing schoolwork and uninspired conversation with Gansey’s rowing crewmates. He tries to spice up his daily routine by going exploring afterschool with Blue and Henry, plus Adam and Ronan if he can rope them into it, but since finding Glendower, things have been boring. Stagnant. There is nothing in particular to be found, no specific information to seek, and Gansey is floundering without a proper quest. So he throws himself into solving the mystery of Adam and Ronan completely.

“Parrish,” says Gansey amiably on a Wednesday when he knows Adam doesn’t have work after school. “What are you doing this afternoon?”

Adam pauses for a fraction of a second. It’s so brief that almost anyone else wouldn’t even catch it, but Gansey has enough experience by now to recognize Adam’s tiniest hesitation, and to know what it means: Adam is about to tell a lie, or at least a half-truth. Right on cue, Adam exhales through his nose and says, “Um, I have plans. What’s up?”

Gansey smiles his best politician smile, an expression which he rarely wastes on Adam. “I was just wondering if you wanted to get together and study, but if you’re busy, that’s fine. I just haven’t seen much of you lately.”

“Oh,” says Adam, almost guiltily. “Well, I, um, I can probably push my plans. Or, like, cancel them. It’s not, er, it’s nothing that can’t be rescheduled.”

Gansey pats Adam on the shoulder. “Excellent,” he says, his smile going lopsided with earnestness. “I’ll see you then.”

“See you later,” Adam says, walking away before Gansey can get another word in. He’s across the Aglionby parking lot and sliding into the front seat of his car in flash, peeling out of the lot with the sort of reckless abandon that Gansey associates with Lynch, not Parrish. Shaking his head, Gansey approaches the Pig and clambers inside, hoping to God that his car actually starts and he doesn’t have to call Adam back to the school when he’s obviously in such a rush.

The Pig does start, thank the Lord, and the radio even picks up a local classic rock station for most of the drive. Gansey hums along to Joan Jett, tapping his hands against the steering wheel to the beat of the drums, and arrives at St. Agnes in good spirits. He’s surprised, though, to find that he’s reached Adam’s apartment before Adam himself — Adam who left school before Gansey, Adam who was last seen driving like a bat out of hell. His car is absent from the lot, his window dark, so Gansey just sits on the top stair and scrolls idly through his phone, heart-reacting to all of Henry’s Instagram stories and obligingly retweeting Noah’s jokes. He’s just starting to consider texting Adam when he hears the unmistakable _ka-thunk_ that signals the Hondayota’s approach. He locks his phone and slides it into the back pocket of his chinos as he stands and stretches his arms over his head. Adam pulls into the parking lot at a crawl and eases into a spot at the far end, his car groaning and wheezing unpleasantly all the while. As soon as the engine dies, Adam’s stepping out, backpack hanging off one shoulder and a frown tugging at the corners of his mouth. He steps in front of the car and pops the hood, stands back while steam pours out, and then sighs and slams the top back down. It’s only then, when he turns to head upstairs, that he even notices Gansey’s presence.

“Sorry,” Adam calls out, jogging across the lot. He takes the stairs two at a time and slips a keyring from his front pocket. “I had to run an errand and then the shitbox died on the side of the road. I barely managed to get her back here before she called it quits again. Have you been waiting long?”

“No,” says Gansey with a quick shake of the head. “Just a few minutes. Anything I can do to help with the —” He almost repeats _shitbox_ but changes trajectory at the last second. “The car?” Not that Adam’s car isn’t, for lack of a better term, a _shitbox_. It’s just that it might sound very different coming from Gansey’s privileged, pompous lips, and he desperately does not want to fight with Adam today.

Adam unlocks the door and shoulders it open, immediately setting his backpack on the floor once he’s inside. “No,” he says automatically, pulling his sweater over his head gingerly and folding it. Then he pauses and looks away. “Or. Well. I mean, if you don’t mind—”

Of course Gansey doesn’t mind. Gansey has made it abundantly clear — maybe _too_ clear — over the years that he would gladly do anything and everything possible to make Adam’s life easier. It’s usually Adam that cares, Adam that is too proud to take Gansey up on any of these offers. So this, this _if you don’t mind_ , it’s a big step for the both of them. It’s a testament to how far Adam has come, that he can even entertain the idea of accepting help, especially from Gansey of all people. Gansey wants to jump on the opening, wants to pull Parrish in for the world’s warmest hug, but instead he bites his lip and waits. It would be a shame for Gansey to come off as too eager and for Adam to pull back altogether, and Gansey isn’t willing to risk it.

“If it’s cool with you,” Adam sighs after a second, turning away. He begins to unbutton his dress shirt and steps out of his shoes at the same time. “We could, uh, we could always study while I work on the car? Like, take turns quizzing each other, or whatever?”

Even though Adam’s back is turned, Gansey grins. “Sounds good to me,” he says, trying to sound agreeable yet indifferent at the same time. It’s hard when his real mood is _entirely ecstatic._ “What do you want to work on? History? We have that test Friday.”

“Sure,” says Adam. He finishes changing into a t-shirt and jeans, steps into a pair of faded sneakers, and then rubs his hands together. “Whatever you say, Gans.”

Adam makes a small detour into the kitchenette to grab his toolbox from beneath the counter, and then they head back outside, where it is unseasonably (but luckily) warm. Gansey unbuttons the collar of his shirt, loosens the knot of his tie, and rolls up his sleeves as Adam pops the Hondayota’s hood again and gets to work.

Nearby, Gansey seats himself comfortably on the hood of the Camaro, one of his school notebooks open in his lap. Unlike his journals, Gansey’s school notebooks are relatively neat and organized, devoid of all personality. His notes used to be as cluttered and hectic as the rest of his life, but sophomore year, he changed his note taking style so that they would be useful and accessible for Adam whenever he missed school. Now, Adam doesn’t have to call in sick or borrow Gansey’s notes anymore, but old habits die hard. Gansey clears his throat and says, “What was the Zollverein designed to do?”

Elbow-deep in his car’s engine, Adam recites easily, “The Zollverein was a Prussian customs unit designed to create an enlarged trading area.” He blows a loose strand of hair out of his eyes and then says, apropos of absolutely nothing, “Hey, can I ask you a question?”

Gansey blinks. He has never, in the entire course of their friendship, known Adam to veer off course during a study session. And to veer off course after only one question, well — it isn’t very Adam-like at all. Gansey is immediately and unbearably curious. “Of course,” he says, leaning forward slightly. He doesn’t want to miss a word.

Adam removes his upper half from the confines of his car’s engine and wipes his hands unceremoniously on a dirty cloth from his toolbox. “Okay, so, you and Blue and Henry have been together for, what, like, two months now?”

Gansey has no idea where he thought the conversation was going, but this certainly wasn’t it. “Yes,” he says, consciously restraining himself from furrowing his brow. “Yes, our two-month anniversary is next week.”

“Cool,” says Adam, nodding. He stares determinedly at the cloth in his hands. “So, um, before y’all were dating. When did you know, um, that it was the right time to, like, make it official?”

“What?” Gansey asks, before his brain has even finished processing Adam’s question. “Oh. Oh!” Adam is blushing, still looking away, and Gansey hops down from the hood of his car cheerfully. “Parrish!” he exclaims. “I didn’t know you were seeing somebody!”

Adam swallows nervously, his face pink. “Yeah,” he says, and his voice is a degree softer, the corners of his mouth twitching upward, “yeah, and it’s good, it’s great, but how do I know when it’s time to — to give it a label, or whatever?”

“Well,” says Gansey. He thinks through his answer carefully before speaking, not wanting to get a single world wrong for danger of ruining his best friend’s love life. “For me, I knew that I should make things official with Henry and Jane because I realized that I couldn’t imagine a future without them in it.” He smiles sheepishly, folding his arms across his chest. “I know it sounds cheesy and dramatic, and I know that we’re only seniors in high school and we have our whole lives ahead of us, but… it’s hard to explain. When I’m with them, everything is quiet. It’s like I’m at peace with myself.”

For several long, heavy seconds, Adam stares at Gansey, his face unreadable. He chews on the inside of his cheek, bright eyes inspecting Gansey, analyzing him, and then Adam looks away, a hint of a smile playing at his lips. He turns back to the car and bends over the engine, busying himself with his tools once again. Gansey thinks he hears him murmur, “ _Oh_ ,” quietly to the Hondayota’s battery.

It’s almost a full minute before Gansey breaks. “So,” he says, giddy, “Who’s the lucky lady?”

Adam stands up so quickly that he knocks the back of his head against the hood of the Hondayota. “ _What_?” He spins around to face Gansey, wide-eyed and incredulous. “Is that a real question?”

Well, if Adam is confused, that makes two of them. “...Yes?” Gansey tilts his head to the side, then straightens it when he recalls the time Blue told him that he supposedly _looks like a lost puppy_ when he does that. “Sorry, was I not supposed to ask?”

“I…” Adam’s face does something complicated, cycling through expressions of disbelief and bewilderment before landing on something close to amusement. His eyes narrow slightly, and Gansey is met with the uncomfortable knowledge that not only does Adam know something he doesn’t, but he intends on using it to his advantage. “I’d rather not say until it’s official,” Adam says smoothly. All traces of awkwardness and confusion are long gone from both his face and his voice. “Don’t wanna jinx it, you know?”

“Of course,” says Gansey. He’s starting to regret deciding to meddle in Adam and Ronan’s lives — oh! Wait! Yes, that’s right, _Adam and Ronan_. The entire reason he’s here in the first place! Gansey returns to his perch on the Pig’s hood and lets the theories begin to form in his mind. Maybe this is what’s wrong with Adam and Ronan, maybe Ronan doesn’t like the girl that Adam is going out with and he’s being obnoxious about it. Gansey rolls the idea around for a second, and when it doesn’t immediately fall apart, he allows himself to test it. “What does Ronan think of you getting into a relationship?”

Rifling through his toolbox, Adam laughs harshly and loudly. “Oh, he thinks I should go for it,” he says over the clanging of metal on metal. “Big fan. I believe his exact words were, _you gotta lock this ass down, Parrish, good ones never wait_.” Adam pauses, then laughs again, softer. “And then, when I said that’s from a Taylor Swift song, he told me to shut the fuck up.”

Gansey scoffs. “That’s not a very respectful thing for him to say about your prospective girlfriend,” he chastises, and inexplicably, this makes Adam laugh harder. Gansey frowns and continues, “But he’s not wrong. If you take too long to figure out what you want, she could very well move on with her life before then.”

With a small _aha!_ , Adam withdraws his hand from the toolbox, clutching a tiny, rusty wrench. “I know,” he says, returning to the engine. “Trust me, I know. I just… I want to be careful. It’s not a game, you know?”

At this, Gansey can’t help but smile. “Well then, doesn’t that answer your very question?”

“Oh,” Adam says again. He adjusts something, then turns around. “Could you try to start the car for me?”

Wordlessly, Gansey slides down off the Camaro’s hood and climbs into the Hondayota’s front seat, where the key already rests dutifully in the ignition. He jiggles it a few times, foot on the break, and then the key turns all the way and the engine roars to life. Adam slams the hood back into place and grins triumphantly at Gansey through the windshield.

Gansey shuts the engine off and takes the key from the ignition, tossing it to Adam as they cross the parking lot. “Thanks, Gans,” Adam says at the bottom of the stairs, hands shoved into his pockets. Gansey just shrugs, nudging one shoulder against Adam’s, and they head back inside, victorious.

* * *

Much to Gansey’s surprise, Ronan’s BMW is parked haphazardly outside of Monmouth when Gansey arrives home that evening. It’s rare for Ronan to drive all the way into Henrietta just to hang out at Monmouth Manufacturing these days, most of his time being dedicated to repairing his childhood home and getting the farm up and running again. If Gansey had known that Ronan was coming by today, he may have insisted Adam come to Monmouth instead; Gansey misses Ronan, and it certainly would have worked better for his research to have them both in the same place.

The moment Gansey opens his car door, music meets his ears, spilling through the windowpanes of the warehouse and across the parking lot. It isn’t Ronan’s usual EDM or Murder Squash song, nor is it Noah’s typical punk rock — it’s obnoxious, ear-splitting country music, the kind that people only listen to ironically. He sighs and shoulders his backpack, bracing himself for whatever scene awaits him inside.

It’s mayhem in the main room of Monmouth, as Gansey expected, but as he lets the door drift closed behind him he can’t help but think, _Well, it could certainly be worse_. The entire middle portion of the room, his bed included, has been turned into a heavily-fortified blanket… palace, quite honestly. It’s a feat of psychics and engineering, so impressive that Gansey can’t even find it within himself to be annoyed by the fact that he is currently obstructed from reaching his bed. Or the couch. Or any other comfortable surface for resting.

 _Where did you come from, where did you go? Where did you come from, Cotton Eye Joe?_ the surround-sound speakers blare. The room is literally vibrating to the bass of the song, not unlike a bad Aglionby houseparty, and Gansey sort of feels like he’s just walked into a dream. Not one of his dreams, of course — none of his dreams have ever involved 1990’s country-techno music — but a dream nonetheless. Maybe one of Ronan’s. Minus the night horrors, hopefully.

“Ronan?” Gansey calls out, voice inaudible over the riff of a fiddle. His life is, quite frankly, ridiculous. It’s like he lives in a perpetual liminal space. “Noah?” He steps deeper into the room, eyeing the rainbow twinkle lights twisted around the furniture. They cast an otherworldly, prismatic light on everything, glittering uncannily. A lot of Ronan’s things are like that, needlessly abnormal, much like Ronan himself.

The song begins to fade out, and Gansey lifts the edge of the outermost blanket to peer inside. “Hello,” he says cheerfully, stooping down to crawl inside. “I see you’ve been busy.”

Noah startles a bit where he’s sitting cross-legged, painting Ronan’s nails. The brush nicks the skin at the tip of Ronan’s finger, but neither of them seem to notice nor mind; judging by the black paint all over Ronan’s hands, Noah has been startled every thirty seconds for this entire endeavor. With his free hand, Ronan grabs Noah’s phone and turns the music down to a nearly-bearable volume. “Hey, old man,” he says, greeting Gansey with a black-painted middle finger, “where you been?”

Gansey flops backward onto a pillow he recognizes as one of his own. A new song begins to play, softer than the previous. “I’ve been with Parrish,” Gansey says, turning his head slightly to gauge Ronan’s reaction. Ronan is unblinking, inscrutable. “What have you two been up to?”

 _Country roads, take me home,_ the speakers croon, _to the place I belong._ Noah sings along the whole time, focusing more on the words to the song than on his painting, but Ronan just narrows his eyes at the smaller boy fondly. _West Virginia, mountain mama. Take me home, country roads._

“You’re lookin’ at it,” Ronan answers over the sound of John Denver and Noah’s voices mixing. He blows at the nails of his free hand, which look absolutely apocalyptic upon closer inspection. Not that this bothers Ronan, of course — knowing him, that’s how he prefers it. “What did you and nerd boy get up to?”

Gansey rolls his eyes at the _nerd boy_ comment. He doesn’t bother refuting it, though, because, well, it isn’t necessarily untrue, and also, it’s pretty tame for one of Ronan’s nicknames. “We studied,” he says, “and he worked on his car. And—”

“His car?” Ronan interrupts. Gansey finally has his attention. “Is his car fucked again?”

“It’s fine now,” says Gansey, squinting up at Ronan’s face. “It died on the way home, but he got it back to St. Agnes and then worked on it while we studied.”

Ronan scowls, flexing the fingers of his free hand. “He should’ve called me,” he mutters. As soon as Noah puts the finishing touch on his pinky, Ronan snatches his hand away, jaw tensed. “What a jackass.”

It’s an… odd… reaction to have. Gansey homes in on this. “Why should he have called you?” he asks innocently. “How was he supposed to know you were even in town today?” Ronan’s scowl deepens. Gansey adds, “And we both know the odds of you actually picking up your phone.”

“Ronan always picks up his phone for Adam,” Noah interjects helpfully. He screws the cap back on the nail polish and sets it to the side, then easily dodges Ronan’s attempt to flick him in the forehead. “And Ronan and Adam had pla—” His sentence is cut off as Ronan grabs a pillow and whacks him in the side of the head with it.

Gansey pushes himself upright, head cocked. “Ronan and Adam had what?” he asks Noah, but it’s of no use; Noah has already moved on, determined to get his revenge on Ronan for the pillow attack. Gansey scrambles backward as Noah tackles Ronan backward, taking down a section of the blanket fort with him.

“Good going, Czerny!” Ronan snarls as he becomes entangled in a sheet. “You little shit, _god_ —”

Gansey carefully exits the structure before more of it can cave in. He can hear Ronan and Noah continuing to tussle in the fort, and one of them knocks a chair over, bringing the remaining section down in a heap on top of them. After a few seconds, the music cuts out too, leaving Monmouth silent but for Noah’s heavy panting and Ronan’s good natured cursing.

“So,” says Gansey when nobody moves to clean up the mess or at least remove themselves from it. “Do either of you happen to know who it is that Parrish is seeing?”

Ronan bolts upright, still beneath a sheet. “Huh?”

Crawling out from beneath a comforter, Noah lets out a surprised laugh. “Oh, is Adam seeing someone?” he asks, an edge of something like irony to his voice. “I wouldn’t know anything about that. Ronan, do you have any intel?”

Ronan yanks the sheet away from his face and shoots Noah a dirty look before turning his glare on Gansey. “What did he say?” he asks, bunching up the sheet and tossing it in Noah’s direction.

Raising his hands in surrender, Gansey shakes his head. “Not much. Just that he’s seeing someone and he thinks it’s time to make it official.” Ronan’s face lights up, and Gansey adds, “He said he’s discussed it with you before?”

“Oh — well — um,” Ronan bites out, face flushing pink for some reason. He’s uncharacteristically clumsy with his words, eyes darting around the room and landing everywhere but Gansey’s face. “I mean — only briefly — he’s — well, you know Parrish.” He brings his wrist to his face and bites down on the leather bands there, muffling his next words. “He takes forever to think things through. Nothing’s fucking easy with him.”

Gansey nods in agreement before catching himself. “Yes, well, you could stand to think a bit more about your actions, you know,” he sniffs, then continues before Ronan can snap back at him, “Anyway, I wonder who she is.”

“Huh?” Ronan says again.

“ _She_?” Noah repeats, voice squeaky.

Gansey frowns. His friends are truly having the strangest reactions to things today. “I just mean,” he says curtly, “that I’m interested in who she is. Where they met. Hm, she probably goes to school with Blue, I’ll ask her.”

For some reason, Ronan and Noah are just staring at him, the former unamused and the latter half-hysterical. “You’re serious,” Ronan deadpans. He blinks a few times, as if to clear his vision, and then scoffs. “You’re dead serious.”

“Of course I am,” says Gansey. He can feel his patience running out, so he stands, grabs his jacket. “I think I’m going to have dinner at Fox Way,” he says, making the decision as the words leave his mouth. “Please, for the love of God, clean all of _this_ ,” he gestures vaguely with his hands, “up before you go.” Gansey’s hand rests on the doorknob, and he makes an effort to smile as he looks over his shoulder. “It was good seeing you, Ronan,” he says, and he means it, even if his nerves are all frazzled now.

Ronan smiles back, albeit unkindly. “You too, Dick,” he says, and Gansey just sighs and steps outside, forcing himself to remember that he loves Ronan, god damn it, teeth and talons and all.

* * *

“Wait, wait, wait,” Blue says, barely suppressing a laugh. “You asked _Ronan_ if he knew the _girl_ that Adam is dating?”

“I’m only human, Jane,” says Gansey, resting his head in her lap. “I respect Parrish’s boundaries, of course, but I can’t help but be curious. Don’t worry, though, everyone has made it abundantly clear that I should mind my own business until Parrish is ready to tell me himself.” He sighs, distressed. “I just wonder why he doesn’t feel as though he can share it with me. I mean, you seem to know everything.” Blue nods in confirmation. “And he told Ronan. _Ronan_ , Jane. Not that I don’t love Ronan, of course, but surely I’m more supportive than _Ronan_.”

Blue just tsks, brushing a few unruly strands of hair out of Gansey’s eyes. “It isn’t about you,” she chides, fingertips gentle against his forehead. “Let Adam come to you in his own time. The most supportive thing to do right now is to give him the space that he asks you for.”

Gansey exhales through his nose. “You’re right.”

“Of course I’m right,” Blue snorts, patting his cheek. “Who do you think you’re talking to right now?”

Reaching up to intertwine their fingers, Gansey smiles at her. “Of course,” he repeats, kissing the back of her hand. “So. I suppose I’ll just have to find something else to meddle with. Like whatever is going on with Parrish and Lynch.”

Blue groans theatrically. “What did we _just_ determine about respecting our friends’ boundaries?”

“That applies to romantic entanglements,” says Gansey, “not friendship drama that affects us all. It is still perfectly acceptable for me to get involved here, thank you very much.”

Blue shakes her head and pinches the bridge of her nose. “The worst. You are the absolute worst.”

“Yes,” Gansey agrees. “Yes, I am.”

* * *

“Dude,” says Ronan, from directly behind Gansey. “We’ve gotta talk.”

Gansey startles. It’s not that he’s afraid of Ronan, of course, he’s just surprised — there are certain places you expect to run into Ronan Lynch, and a dark section of hallway within the walls of Aglionby Academy is not one of them. “Ronan!” Gansey says, turning around and blinking up at his friend’s face. “Do you even go to school here anymore?”

Ronan rolls his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest. “No,” he says dismissively, which explains his lack of school uniform; instead of an untucked sweater and disheveled tie, he’s in a t-shirt and leather jacket, looking as out of place in this school as he’s always felt. “That’s not the point. I need to talk to you.”

Gansey frowns, glancing around the mostly empty hallway. The few students who are around are giving Ronan nervous looks out of the corners of their eyes, which is absolutely ridiculous and very much deserved. “I’d love to chat, but I have European lit in five minutes and—”

“Fuck European lit,” Ronan interrupts. He takes Gansey by the elbow, far more gentle than one might expect from Ronan Lynch, and guides him into an empty classroom. He lets go of Gansey and then closes the door behind himself, not bothering to flick on the overhead lights.

“Is everything alright?” Gansey asks, voice tight. He looks Ronan up and down, checking for some indication of what could possibly have driven Ronan to the Aglionby campus today, but he looks okay. Better than okay, actually, he looks great. A perfect specimen, if your type is Catholic anarchist farmer. Not that that’s Gansey’s type, but surely a guy can appreciate how great his friends look every once in a while.

Ronan leans back against the door, twisting the fingers of his right hand in the leather bands at his left wrist. “No, _Dick_ , everything is not _alright_.” It’s hard to make out the finer details of his expression in the dim lighting, but Gansey figures it’s safe to say he’s glaring. “It’s come to my attention that you have been dicking around in mine and Parrish’s—” He cuts himself off, shakes his head, and then points at Gansey in what is a very unRonanlike gesture. “You’ve been Scooby Doo-ing, and you need to knock it off.”

There is so much to unpack here that it’s a moment before Gansey can even begin to think about replying. “I’ve been…” He trails off, looking to Ronan to repeat himself, but Ronan just arches his eyebrows and squares his jaw defiantly. “I’ve been _Scooby Doo-ing_?” The words taste so absurd on his tongue that he pauses, hoping Ronan will correct him, but Ronan’s only response is to nod vigorously. Gansey lets out one tiny, helpless laugh. “What does that even _mean_?”

Ronan sighs, one of his feet tapping restlessly against the carpeted floor. “It means you’ve been meddling in shit that has nothing to do with you, and you need to cut it out.”

“I’m…” For one long, nonsensical moment, Gansey is at a complete loss for words. “Scooby was the good guy,” he finally settles on, his brain still trying (and failing) to pick up the pieces of this conversation and put them together. “He solved mysteries. He exposed bad guys.”

“Jesus fucking Christ, Gans,” Ronan swears, pressing his the heels of his hands against his closed eyes. He holds them there for a few seconds, then says, audibly pained, “It’s not your fucking job to _expose_ shit. Not when it comes to me and Parrish.”

And suddenly, Gansey gets it.

“Oh,” he says softly, the puzzle pieces arranging themselves before his very eyes. “ _Oh_.”

Ronan drops his hands. “ _Oh_ what?” he snaps, not quite angry but creeping closer with every passing second.

Gansey blinks a few times. “You _like_ him,” he breathes, and he knows as soon as the words leave his mouth that he’s right. “You like _Adam_.”

Ronan chokes on a cough, knocking his head on the door behind him. “Jesus fuck,” he mutters, and just the fact that he hasn’t immediately denied it confirms everything Gansey needs to know. “That’s what you got out of this? Oh my _God_.”

“It’s okay, Ronan,” Gansey says gently. He doesn’t know why he didn’t see it before; Ronan came out to him almost two years ago, and the way he treats Adam has always been different than the way that he treats Gansey or Noah or Blue. Everything Gansey knows about Ronan realigns itself in his mind. “I’m not going to say anything.”

Inexplicably, Ronan laughs, but he doesn’t sound particularly amused. Or grateful. “Oh. Well. In _that_ case.” His words drip with sarcasm, so sharp that Gansey might flinch away if he wasn’t thoroughly accustomed to Ronan’s aggression by now. Ronan sighs again, shakes his head, and then reaches behind himself for the doorknob. “I’m serious though, dude. Cut the shit.” Before Gansey can respond, he’s gone, leaving Gansey leaning against a desk and wondering what the heck just happened.

* * *

True to his word, Gansey does not mention his conversation with Ronan to anyone. Not Blue, not Henry, and certainly not Adam. It doesn’t matter, though; every moment he spends with Adam, as rare as they come, suddenly feels wrong. Adam’s smiles don’t quite reach his eyes, and there’s a slight pause between Gansey saying something and Adam laughing. It isn’t much — it’s certainly not anything that an outsider would notice — but it’s familiar in a distressing way. It’s how Adam acts when he has a secret, and the last time that he had a secret, it very nearly almost got him killed.

Things finally come to a head a little over a week after Ronan’s visit to Aglionby. Gansey is sitting on the floor of Monmouth late one afternoon, painstakingly painting shingles onto the roof of his miniature City Hall, when he suddenly hears the telltale thrum of the BMW roaring down the block. There’s a squeal of brakes as the driver turns into the lot too quickly, and then silence as the engine dies.

Sitting on the couch with his legs thrown across Blue’s lap, Henry says, “I didn’t know Lynch was stopping by tonight.” As they listen, two car doors open and shut within the span of a single second. “And Parrish, too. Did I miss a memo about movie night?”

Blue pauses in her knitting, eyeing the front door warily. “No,” she says slowly, drawing the syllable out slightly. “I wonder what’s up.”

A pair of boots mount the stairs, tread heavy and frenzied. They reach the top quickly and then pause, and Gansey hears the low rumble of a masculine voice speaking, but it’s too quiet to make out any actual words. A second person starts up the steps, slower and calmer than their companion, and answers just clearly enough for Gansey to make out what they’re saying. _Maybe you shouldn’t have had that last coffee._

The first voice answers, more audible this time, _Bite me, Parrish._ Then the door is thrown open and Ronan steps inside, eyes wide and wild.

“Hey, fuckers,” he says, more to Blue and Henry than to Gansey. He takes inventory of the room and then tenses almost imperceptibly. “Oh, everyone’s already here. Good, I don’t wanna have to do this more than once anyway.” Then he scowls, and Gansey realizes that Ronan hadn’t been scowling upon entering the room, he’d been biting the inside of his lip. It’s out of character for him, and it leaves Gansey intensely curious. “Wait, not everyone.” Ronan crosses the room in half a dozen strides and bangs his fist against Noah’s door, hard enough to make the door shake in its frame. “Czerny, get your ass out here!” he yells, making Adam cringe as he closes the front door.

“Lynch,” says Adam, quietly, a warning. His face is carefully blank, but his shoulders are squared and he’s staying close to the exit. He stuffs his hands into his jean pockets and then looks to Henry, Blue, and Gansey as an afterthought. “Hey, guys.”

“Hey, Adam,” says Blue merrily, completely ignoring the combat-booted elephant in the room. She waves her knitting needles in the air. “I’m knitting a pair of socks.”

Adam spares her a smile at that, relaxing slightly where he’s leaning against the door. “Nice. I didn’t know you knew how to knit.”

Blue grins. “I don’t.”

On the other side of the room, Noah’s door creaks open and he appears, small frame leaning halfway out. “What’s up?” he asks nervously, peering up at Ronan. “Did I miss Christmas?”

“Dude,” Ronan huffs. “It’s almost _February._ Get it together.”

“Oh,” says Noah. He rubs at his eyes. “Did I miss movie night?”

Ronan’s voice is exasperated when he answers. “No, you didn’t miss shit. Now get your scrawny ass out here, I have something to say.” Noah nods and leaves his room fully, padding across the floor to drop into the nearest armchair. Gansey puts his paintbrush down and wipes off his hands on his chinos, then grimaces when he realizes he’s smeared paint across his thigh. It’s his third ruined pair in a month; he can always buy more, of course, but after years of friendship with Adam and almost two months of dating Blue, it’s impossible to not feel guilty about how careless he is with his things.

“So,” Ronan says shortly, bringing Gansey’s attention back to his strange and sudden appearance, “Parrish and I have an announcement.” He looks directly at Gansey when he says this, like the pageantry of this entire situation is for his benefit and his benefit only. Gansey cocks his head, curious as to what Adam and Ronan could possibly have to announce _together_. The only possibility that comes to mind is that this is it, this is exactly what Gansey is afraid of, they’ve shown up here to tell everyone that they’re no longer going to be friends and everyone is going to have to choose between the two of them. Gansey feels his chest tightening. _No_ , he thinks, his palms beginning to sweat. _No, no, no._

Ronan opens his mouth to continue, then closes it with a loud _click._ When he tries again, he simply says, “Parrish, would you like to do the honors?” and earns himself a long, flat glare as Adam steps further into the room.

Making eye contact with Gansey, Adam says, “Ronan and I are dating.”

Oh.

Oh.

 _Oh_.

There’s a very short pause and then Noah yawns, his head lolling against the arm of his recliner. “Is that all?” he asks sleepily. Adam nods. “Can I go back to bed now?” Adam nods again and Noah stands, pats Ronan on the shoulder as he passes, and creeps back inside his dark bedroom.

Blue exchanges a look with Henry and then resumes her knitting, apparently just as unphased by this information as Noah. “Sweet,” she says. She sounds more or less indifferent, but there’s a small smile tugging at her lips that says otherwise. “Good for you guys, I guess.”

“Hm,” Henry hums agreeably. He swings his legs over the side of the couch and sits upright, looking Adam and Ronan up and down for a moment. “Visual appeal, I’d say… eight out of ten. One of you owning a motorcycle would bump you up to a full ten. Chemistry, though, that’s like a twelve. All the bickering, the roughhousing, the secret pining — a classic rivals to best friends to lovers arc. Congratulations on the aesthetic.” He raises a fist, and Adam bumps his own fist against it easily. “Oh, and the relationship too, I guess.”

Ronan snorts and rolls his eyes. “Thank you for that assessment, Cheng,” he says, but it’s not quite as sarcastic as it could be. Then he turns to Gansey, clenching his jaw. “Well?”

Gansey blinks up at Ronan a few times. His brain is moving a mile a minute, but unfortunately, it’s not veering into speaking territory just yet. For the second time in as many weeks, he’s re-processing everything he knows about Ronan, and Adam too. Everything he knows about their dynamic. Every bitter argument, every word they’ve said about each other — it all shifts ninety degrees, not exactly changing the picture but certainly changing Gansey’s perception of it.

He finally opens his mouth to say something supportive, but what comes out instead is, “So _Ronan_ is the lucky lady.”

The room is silent for a moment, and then Ronan lets out a bark of laughter. “Yep,” he says, popping the ‘p.’ “That’s me, Parrish’s trophy wife.”

Adam rolls his eyes and shakes his head, but it’s evident by the quirk of his lip that he’s at least somewhat endeared. “You okay, Gansey?” he asks, giving Gansey a concerned once-over. Gansey is struck by the absurdity of this moment, of his friend coming out to him and then immediately checking on _his_ mental state when Adam is the one who deserves to be cared for at the moment. It’s so typical of Parrish, to look out for someone else, even at his own expense, that Gansey’s chest aches.

“Of course,” says Gansey, pushing himself into a standing position. “I’m so happy for the two of you.” He takes a few steps in Adam and Ronan’s direction and then immediately pulls them in for a hug, feeling both of them stiffen and then relax against him. “And I’m so proud of you both.”

Adam is the first to pull away, followed immediately by Ronan. “Thanks, Gans,” Adam says, the tips of his ears turning pink.

“And I’m sorry,” Gansey adds, “for…” He gestures wildly around the room, waving his hands in small, shaky circles. “Everything. I’m sorry if you felt like you had to come out to me in order to get me off your back.”

“No,” Adam says, shaking his head. “No, that’s — we were ready for you to know weeks ago. We thought you’d just figure it out like everyone else, save us a conversation, but you didn’t, and we realized that we needed to say it anyway.” He reaches to his side and takes Ronan’s hand, as confident as Gansey has ever seen him. “Don’t worry, it was never about you.”

“Fair enough,” says Gansey, falling backward onto the sofa between Blue and Henry. He throws an arm around each of them and smiles. “I believe that I can live with that.”

**Author's Note:**

> i hope you enjoyed!! thank you so much for reading ♡ as always, you can come talk to me on tumblr, i'm @sleepsongs. p.s. title comes from gorgeous by taylor swift!


End file.
